Dreamscape
by Triangular Prism
Summary: The land of dreams is a strange one at times, where nothing can be as expected… and when chance meetings are something meant to be.


**Title:** Dreamscape

**Fandom: **Axis Powers Hetalia and Full Metal Alchemist

**Rating: **T

**Genre: **Angst

**Pairing(s): **China/Xing in future chapters, hinted Amestris/Ishbal

**Summary: **The land of dreams is a strange one at times, where nothing can be as expected… and when chance meetings are something meant to be.

**A/N: Um, let's see… fail title is fail for one thing. This is another one of my weird crossovers which have been plaguing me to no end lately. It plays on the fact that Amestris is based off of Germany in WWII. Plot bunnies must be running around behind my back… contains Hetalizied FMA nations!**

**Disclaimer: **Nope.

* * *

**Dreamscape**

**_An Axis Powers:Hetalia and Full Metal Alchemist fanfiction_**

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* * *

_**

The man looks like him. It is the first thing he notices, standing in the doorway with his hand on the frame, caught in hesitation between moving on or entering the small room. The man's hair is a little longer though, and he seems younger, almost. He wears a different sort of uniform that he has never seen before.

Blue eyes flash in his direction once, then away.

* * *

The room is plain. It could have belonged anywhere. There are curtains, a beige carpet, and light flowing in from the glass-paned windows placed equally around the room. Strangely he can't see what lies beyond them, outside. All there seems to be is the glare of sunlight.

The man who looks like him sits at the end of a long table, scratched and worn with age. There are towers and towers of paper all around him, and with the patience of steel he is working his way through each and everyone one of them with nothing more than a tightness in his jaw and a pen in his hand. But the towers of unfinished papers never seem to shrink. If anything they only grow, along with the untidy stacks of completed documents on the floor. There are dark circles under the man's eyes, and ink stains on his fingers.

He still continues to work.

* * *

He is always standing at the door, as if trying to make up his mind to enter the room, or to leave and follow the plain hallway beyond, one that curves sharply and hides whatever might lie beyond. Always hesitant. Indecisive. Why he is watching the man, he doesn't know, he looks so tired… something tells him his presence would not be welcome, though. Even if he seems exhausted, his shoulders are set, his back straight. Prideful.

* * *

The man pauses. Rubs his eyes with his hand. He glances up again, hesitates, looks back at his work.

* * *

A pen is set down, the _clack _echoing around the room. The papers have expanded to an untidy sea around his feet, and more work is yet to be done, but with a quiet exhalation of breath, the man turns to _him_.

"I don't suppose you'd mind giving me a hand?" the man asks, warily.

It's all he needs to cross the threshold. There is an empty chair, opposite to the other sole occupant of the room, and in this he takes his place. He is uncertain as what to do now that he is actually here, but the man has silently returned to his task. There is a pen in front of him, and he picks it up. Unsure if he really could lend any assistance at all, a sheet of paper is placed in front of him… and to his complete surprise, it's not a foreign document at all… rather, it's referring to _himself. _A document that requires _his _signature. _His _work?

Perplexed, he begins to read.

* * *

"Who are you?"

The question hangs in the air. It came from the man, the man who looks similar to himself, and there is the briefest pause as he thinks of an answer. His had is aching; he has been writing for a while, for every document he takes all seem addressed to him. There is even a smile pile growing by his chair similar to the other, but the stack never shrank…

"Ludwig," he says finally, "Ludwig Beilschmidt."

The man raises an eyebrow, giving him a strange expression.

"Well. I'm Deidrich Adler, but…" he trails off, as if suddenly unsure. "…That wasn't what I _asked_."

He blinks. Does this man see that there is something else to him? There's a knowing look in his eyes, like he is waiting for him to speak. Compelled, he does.

"…Germany. I'm Germany."

The man smiles thinly.

"I am Amestris."

* * *

Amestris is blond like him. His blue eyes are a little darker, but still blue. And Germany thinks he's right about his age… this Nation seems younger than himself, if only by a little. His uniform is strange— a royal blue color lined with silver and gold, strangely cut. But there are many medals pinned to the front, and he wonders what they stand for.

He's never heard of a Nation called Amestris, but Germany has long decided that wherever this is, isn't real. A dream, perhaps. He doesn't know.

Nothing more is said for a long time. Only the scratching of pens on paper is heard. Gemany continues to sign them, even though he realizes that he can't seem to focus on the contents. His hands are becoming blotchy with ink, like Amestris, but the younger Nation looks awful. Sitting across from him, Germany can now see that the black shadows are more pronounced, that his eyes are red from lack of sleep, or some other emotion. His hands shake slightly as he writes. How is his back staying so straight?

* * *

Finally he speaks. He can't stand the silence, and the pile of documents isn't going anywhere. Maybe talking can ease whatever suffering Amestris has.

"Can you read these?" Germany asks, a little awkwardly, and he doesn't even look up with his answer.

"…No. I can't."

"And you still sign them?"

"What about you? You don't even read them either." Amestris snaps, some of his feelings bursting out. Germany frowns. Amestris deflates, slumping back down.

"…For my boss… I'm signing them for my boss…" he mumbles, but the words are half-hearted. They sound like a reassurance.

Silence falls after that.

* * *

When blood begins to suddenly darken the shoulder of Amestris's uniform, blue becoming a sickly black, Germany can't help but to stand, alarmed, but Amestris only waves him down.

"It's alright, It'll go away," he says, vaguely, and his eyes are only empty. Devoid of any pain, or emotion, even as the blood spreads and the smell of a festering wound fills the space between them. But Germany recognizes the nature of this wound. Similar scars stretch over his own body, and the memory makes them ache.

Amestris's people are dying. And he doesn't seem to care.

"You would let your people be _massacred_?" Germany hisses, slamming his fists against the table, and the other Nation looks startled. The paper towers shiver.

"…Massacred? No, I… It's by the Fuhrer's orders, there's a rebellion… In Lior, that's all…" the faltering voice is anything but sure. The older Nation freezes though, at the mention of his words… _by the Fuhrer's orders. _He feels sick.

"A rebellion doesn't leave a wound. Not like that," Germany whispers. Horrified. "Amestris, _what is going on in your country?_"

* * *

The pen falls from Amestris's hands. They're shaking, badly, and he clasps them desperately together to hide it, useless as the motion is.

"What's going on?" he says, a hint of hysteria hovering in his voice, "Nothing. Just... Nothing. Our land is constantly expanding. It's the Fuhrer's orders, all his… The people aren't… happy, but it's _his _orders. The Fuhrer knows what is right for the land…"

"_Shut up_!"

Germany startles even himself with a roar normally reserved for a chaos-stricken world meeting. He can't stand the wavering tone in Amestris's voice, nor the constant mention of his boss, a Fuhrer. And Germany hates that word like nothing else.

"A Nation _does not bow and scrape_ to his boss, even if we answer to only them," he spits at this younger nation, infuriated. "If the people do not agree, _we do not stand by them_. And you _dare _say that murder at your Fuhrer's words _does not matter_? _That the people you represent do not matter?_"

Even as he lashes out, Amestris growing more lost and bewildered with each word, Germany feels a pang in his chest. He preaches to this nation, as if he himself knows best.

_Hypocrite. _

He shakes it aside. That was the past. If can he prevent another tragedy like his past, then he will do so. He will not allow anything like that to happen again.

* * *

When his angry words cease, Germany sees that Amestris has hidden his face in his hands. He tries to calm himself. Perhaps he was too hard on the younger nation, but his words…

A strangled sob splits the calm of the room, and startled, blue eyes widening, Germany watches as Amestris breaks down into heavily suppressed tears.

"It is…" he chokes, "It really is true, isn't it…? Oh God…"

Amestris cries. Something inside has broken, and now Germany stands awkwardly, unsure of what to say. Unsure of how to comfort this mirror image of himself… and that's what Amestris is, isn't he? A different him, an alternate nation, and somehow… somehow they have been brought together. He still wasn't sure why. But now Germany thinks he knows a little better.

* * *

Slowly, Germany sits back down. Takes a deep breath. Amestris has quieted, the brunt of his tears shed, and Germany suspects that when he stops his tired eyes will be even more bloodshot. He's truly been suffering, for God knew how long, yet kept it all bottled away.

"Talk." Germany says evenly. "I don't know where this is. Who you are. Why I am here. But, I think, it has something to do with… whatever you are going through right now."

Across the table, piles of paperwork forgotten, Amestris listens to his mirror's words, though his face is still hidden. A few strands of blond hair have pulled free from their severe style, hanging over his brow, and time passes before the nation speaks.

"All I ever wanted was to become stronger." He begins, whispering through ink-stained hands in a strained voice, wavering slightly. "But… It's all so different now. I… I've become great; my borders are spreading, just like Father told me… He was the first thing I ever knew, you see? When I was… born, I was… _empty_."

Amestris shudders, and Germany uneasily wonders what _empty _means. The other nation was speaking again…

"Father found me… and he raised me. He told me I needed to grow stronger, and he showed me the way to do so… he taught me, and my people Alchemy, and after that… I made my place in the world… It was so _hard. _There were others, but they were so old, and I was so young, and I _fought. _All I've ever done is fight, but I didn't mind the scars, or the pain, the fever, since they meant I was growing _stronger. _And I was doing it alone, since one day, Father was… gone."

His voice cracks slightly. "But… it's… different now.

He suddenly laughs, hysterical and high-strung, mad giggles that take a while to subside completely, and when it finished Germany finally can see his face. Tear-stained and haunted, the face of one who has given up on everything.

"Have you ever wondered why you existed?" he asks, desperately, "Have you ever _questioned _your existence? I never thought of it in the beginning, but now, now that everything's suddenly at stake, something is… _something's wrong._"

Amestris tries to take a shuddering breath, and fails. "Everyday now, I feel… something. It's all around me, trying to trap me in, and I can't find it, but it's _there_… and getting stronger. Closer. It's worse at night, when it's as if _it's _watching me, in the dark…" Germany is struck on how Amestris's words are like a child crying from a nightmare. Still he listens, unable to think of something to say, for Amestris is so obviously terrified. He is drawn in without even trying.

"What is happening to the people?" Germany asks quietly. Listening to the other's fears is part of the problem, but he thinks that if Amestris keeps speaking of it he will be unable to talk much longer. His entire body is wracked with faint tremors.

"The people…" the voice is strained, as Amestris is still distracted by the nameless fear. But he is putting forth an effort to speak, to keep speaking, something Germany wordlessly commends him for.

"I fought to grow. The land that was in the way, the people, they had to be annexed, and I thought nothing of it, since that's just how things are in war. War brings death. A simple truth, and it never bothered me. It hurt, sometimes, badly, but…"

He suddenly winces, no doubt from the momentarily forgotten wound on his shoulder. The blood has stained the entire shoulder by now, and still spreads down his arm and front. "Now…" Amestris whispers, "Now there is only war _within _my country. One day I noticed, barely, that every now and then, years apart really, there would be… some sort of uprising. Some rebellion against me, and the Fuhrer would put it down easily. But the wounds they caused, they, well…" He grimaces in a bitter smile, indicating his wounded shoulder. "The worst of them was… Ishbal."

Amestris's eyes soften suddenly, filling with a look of regret. "She wanted independence. I tried to negotiate, but tensions only grew. One day it simply exploded. One of my soldiers shot a child, accidentally, but that was all it took for her to declare war. And I destroyed her."

He speaks in a clear voice of all things, his shoulders straight, but the regret and pain in his face is unmistakable. "The scar, the wound it caused… it was the worst I felt. It was the first campaign that used the power of Alchemist Soldiers, my State Alchemists, and the carnage they cause…" Slowly his eyes dull again, and he slumps in his chair. "Her people still survive, barely. But there's hardly any Ishbalans left. I haven't seen her since the war ended."

The sound of blood dripping onto the surface of the paper sea around their feet is the only noise in the silence between them.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

The blood slides down his fingers in a steady trickle. Dark circles stain crisp white.

"Where was I? Yes, the wars against my own people. Strange, isn't it? How it happens," Amestris says quietly. "It hurts. And then when the leaders put them down, take violent measures that seem almost too extreme, they tell me it's for the good of the whole. That trash needs to be eradicated. That it's for my own good. But I fail to see how. If one's own country will only stand by and watch as the people are slaughtered, how is it for the greater good? When we are the representation of the people? And I've wondered… why I always did nothing but accept their words."

"I asked myself the same question during my own war…"

Blue eyes flash in confusion, as Germany speaks, almost whispers. His own eyes, however, stare back in quiet humiliation, and the spark of recognition causes Amestris's eyes to widen.

"You… too?" the nation asks, warily, and Germany nods.

"They called it the Holocaust," He says in a low voice. "My boss… My… _Fuhrer…_ I thought he was a savior in a time when my people lived with their heads low, and their pride diminished in the face of a lost war. It was blamed on me, and the punishment was… harsh. I was forced to pay damages when I needed to repair my own. My economy fell, I was looked down on by all my peers, and all I wanted was to regain the _honor _of my people, to make my country _strong _again. Then…. _he _came, and it seemed that my prayers had been answered."

Germany smiles bitterly. "I was blind in my own want. It started out well; we conquered, grew strong, and all were afraid to oppose us. I had a reason to stand tall again. Everything seemed… _perfect._"

The twinge of an old scar halts the Nation in his words. Instinctively he grimaces, pressing a hand against his side, and Amestris follows with his gaze, staring at the spot as if trying to see though Germany's clothes, to the old wound he now knows is there.

"Scars like these will never fade," Germany murmurs, "I think they're a reminder… of what we could have stopped."

"What happened?" the question is posed. Germany has no choice but to answer.

"One day, all of a sudden, I found myself injured," he begins, "But the cause of it, I had no idea. And as the days went by, it worsened… and others opened. The pain… some days I was so fevered I could hardly open my eyes, couldn't even speak it was so great. It wasn't for a long time that I finally learned that the _Fuhrer, _without a word to me… He had taken thousands of innocents, and… he slaughtered them all. He had a vision that he shared with so many others, and they were corrupted by the dream, making it inevitable that when I finally learned the truth, I couldn't bring myself to act against it. It sickened me. My people, the people of other nations, gathered together and simply killed for their belief, their blood, for not being… _perfect._"

Germany closes his eyes in anguish as he remembers. Pain-ridden days, days when he swallowed his words and stood aside, torn between the suffering of the land he represented, and an impossible dream he couldn't bear to shatter. At his side, the scar of that certain horrible place pulses with a renewed vigor, causing him to grit his teeth. But he bears it with no complaint. It is after all, a small price to pay.

* * *

Amestris watches him, and Germany stares back just as calmly. Countless emotions pass between them, a shared burden of pain. So much has been spilled between them both, emotions buried deep inside and only just brought to light.

"This is a dream, isn't it?" Amestris suddenly asks, and Germany blinks in astonishment, before, of all things, chuckling.

"It took you all this time notice?" he asks, bewildered and laughing, and Amestris shoots him a look, smiling dryly.

"Well, no, but… How could I think this was real? These papers never end! That was an indication in itself!" he huffs, waving madly around him at the piles and piles of paper, and just like that his sudden good humor is gone, smile faltering.

Germany's laughter dies as well, and now he is slightly uncomfortable. Amestris is staring at the documents with an unusual intensity.

"I don't think my _Fuhrer _is human," he says suddenly, and quite frankly. Germany frowns, confused, even more so when Amestris picks up a long forgotten pen, and, with new energy, begins to sign.

"What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I mean. _I don't think he's human._" The nation signs a document with particular ferocity. "I know I said earlier that _something _was trapping me, and I think King Bradley is a part of it."

Another document joins the pile at his feet. It covers the red stains on some, but Amestris seems unaware that he is leaving bloody handprints on the table.

"I also said I didn't know why I exist," he says in a quieter tone, "…Something is going to happen in my country. Something… I don't even know how to describe it. Something." He pauses, and looks at the current paper in his hand with sudden clarity.

"You know? I finally know what I'm signing," Amestris smiles bitterly.

"I'm signing death warrants."

Germany inhales sharply, going rigid in shock. He shoots a look at the papers he has signed, alarm in his face, but as though reading his mind, Amestris shakes his head. "Not yours. I'm not sure what they look like to you, but they aren't like mine."

Amestris is tired and drawn, with ink-stained hands and blood-shot eyes, but there is a new strength in his face, and before the next statement comes from his mouth, Germany knows instinctively what it is, and so he is not surprised at his mirror image's words;

"I think I can finish these on my own now."

There is no protest. Germany braces himself against the oak table and rises from his chair. His time here is up, he feels. He has done what he was brought here to accomplish, uncertain as it was.

He knows the dream is ending.

Wading through the sea of papers on the carpeted ground, Germany makes his way to the heavy wooden doors, as Amestris silently watches him go, clenching the pen in his hand tightly. He is nervous of the work still before him –the paperwork really hasn't shrunk at all– but his jaw is set.

"Germany…"

The said nation pauses on the threshold. With one hand on the doorframe, he looks back, at the man who remains seated.

"I… thank you. For the help." Is all Amestris says, along with a nod.

Germany hesitates. He replies with the only thing he can think of.

"Good luck."

Then he passes through into the white-washed hallway beyond. He follows it, to the sharp curve that turns from sight.

* * *

And Germany wakes up.

* * *

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**Good lord, it's ten pages. I never expected it to be this long… Thanks for reading, I (strangely enough) have corresponding chapters for other nations in the back of my head, and I'll be writing those as they come. For now though, I'm marking this as 'Complete' until the other ideas are more concrete, and set and stuff. And do review if you have time, I tried to keep the conversation between nations smooth, but it was serious angst… I just hope I didn't go all over the place with it.**

**D:**

**-Triangular Prism-**


End file.
